Well the night wore a raincoat and silence lost the fight

My guardian angel tipped his hat and said, “I’ll be back tonight”

He folded up his wings like maps and fluttered for a laugh

Said “There’s a corner store on Eighth - I’ll grab a pack and a half”

The oak tree cleared his throat, the alley took a drag

By the time the moon came down to check my mailbox, he was lagged

My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back

Left his halo in the ashtray, his footprints on the track

The fog wrote his name on the window and the morning kept it black

My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back

The bartender wiped his hands and hummed a hymn of spare change

The piano played like someone tryin’ to remember his own name

I asked the moon just for a witness, blinked like an old man’s eye

Said “He lit a match, said ‘Be right back,’ then shuffled off to die”

Not of fire or of fever, just of something small and sly

Like a promise with a hole in it where the moon slips through and flies

My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back

Left his halo in the gutter, his polaroids in my pack

The city ate his shadow, coughed it up in a railroad stack

My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back

I went down to the corner where the saints pawn their shoes

There was a policeman prayin’, a child wishin’ blues

A preacher sold me forgiveness for two coins and a snack

But his ledger said, “No returns” - angel left without his hat

I found his lighter in a puddle, the brass all bent and polite

It clicked like a tiny chapel, tried to make the darkness right

There was a lipstick on the jukebox, a ticket in the cat’s cold lap

A little note in the battered hat that read, “Don’t wait - don’t nap”

Maybe he just stepped out for a smoke, maybe he went to test the sky

Maybe angels like the taste of trouble when the day turns sideways dry

My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back

Left a trail of blue confetti like a goddamn railroad track

There’s a hole where my halo oughta be, and a matchbox with his lack

My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back

So I light my own small candle, watch the smoke curl and rise

If he’s playin’ cards with sinners or teachin’ rooftops to improvise

Tell him keep the change and tell him don’t go thinkin’ that I lack

If he swings by on a Sunday, tell him bring a pack - and bring it back

Track from the album "Tin-Cup Valentine"